


Dawn

by King_in_the_North



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M, Robb Stark is King in the North
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:53:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26526286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/King_in_the_North/pseuds/King_in_the_North
Summary: When you've married for practical reasons rather than love, a wedding night can be an unnerving experience...and sometimes the start of something more. Robb / Rhaenys. Rated R for a reason...
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Robb Stark/Rhaenys Targaryen (Daughter of Elia)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

"There." Ellaria straightened the sleeve of the robe and stepped back. "Surely there has never been a lovelier bride awaiting her wedding night in the North."

Rhaenys suppressed a grimace at the words and managed a smile for her. "Thank you." She looked down, touched the white silk robe and gown. Embroidered with small suns, it had been a gift from Sansa and was truly lovely.

The smile became a little more genuine as she remembered her sister-in-law's excitement when she'd presented the gift. She was quite fond of Sansa, had appreciated the thoughtfulness behind the gesture. Then she gave into a sigh. 

"He's a good man, Rhae." Ellaria's voice was soft.

Rhaenys looked over at her, smiled again. The woman had almost been a mother to her after her own mother had died. 

"I know."

Ellaria looked like she wanted to say something else, then hesitated.

Rhaenys smiled again, reached over and squeezed the other woman's hand. "I'll be fine. You're right. He's a good man, and nerves are normal. I know that." She walked toward the door, opened it, motioned. "Go on – you should go back to my uncle and enjoy the celebrations. I'm sure the king will be here any moment."

The words caused her stomach to twitch again, but she kept the smile. She was a queen now, and there were certain things expected of her. One was that she was no longer quite so free to show her emotions, even to her closest friends. Including nerves.

Ellaria gave her a long look, then nodded. "I'll see you in the morning, then."

With that, she was gone, and Rhaenys had a moment of panic, of wanting to call her back.

She suppressed it. She was being silly. Women survived this all the time. Turning, she walked across the room, sat and stared into the fire. It might be easier if it weren't Robb, she admitted.

He had been nothing but kind and respectful to her, but he made her nervous. He was a very ...powerful man. It was a personal power, not linked to his identity as king, and he wore it like he wore his skin.

Before he was anything else, even king, he was a warrior. Direct, focused...aggressive. She knew he'd never expected to be ruling over three kingdoms. And now that he was king, he approached it the same way he'd lead his army, with an almost grim determination.

She had never seen him smile.

And yet...she had seen his concern for his people, his kindness to those who served him, his deep love for his only remaining sister.

Those glimpses into his personality had figured heavily into why she'd agreed to the marriage. She'd wanted to wed, had wanted a family, had wanted more from her life than staying in Dorne.

Apart from her longing for children, not marrying wouldn't have been a horrible fate – she would have just continued to dwell in Sunspear, as the daughter of Elia Martell.

So when the discussions about a possible union between her and Robb had begun – started by Doran and Daenerys – she'd been receptive to it, despite the lack of love she'd always hoped and assumed would be part of her marriage.

She'd married him because she saw a man she respected and admired, and could possibly come to love.

But she was much less clear on why he had entered into the marriage.

And now he would shortly be coming to claim his rights. She didn't consider herself a particularly nervous woman. But currently, faced with the thought of a grim, determined man coming to bed her, nerves were on edge at the moment.

She jumped when the knock came.

She stood, smoothed the robe, took a deep breath. "Come," she said, and grimaced that the nerves were apparent in her voice.

Robb Stark, King in the North, stepped through the door, and what had been small anxious twitchings in her stomach became more pronounced.

Despite the nerves, her breath caught in pleasure at the sight of him. Visually, he was the most compelling man she'd ever met. She'd been aware of that attractiveness every time she'd seen him, but now, with him standing in her chamber, it was overwhelming.

The purple velvet tunic he wore was richly embroidered with gold, and made an appealing background for his coloring – his eyes were dark in the candlelight.

He was surveying her in the same manner and his eyes darkened even more as his gaze moved down her body.

Conscious that the robe and gown revealed more than they covered, the nerves flashed back, but were mixed with an unfamiliar heat as his eyes lingered on her breasts and hips.

She swallowed, and saw his gaze sharpen, fix on her face.

"How are you?" His voice was soft, slightly husky.

She had to clear her throat before answering. "I'm fine."

His expression settled into a frown, and he started toward her. Involuntarily, she took a step back, and he halted, the frown deepening.

Annoyed with herself for the show of nerves, Rhaenys was about to return the question when he reached out and ran his hands down her arms to her fingers.

"You're trembling." He was still frowning, but now was close enough for her to see puzzlement in his eyes as well. "Are you afraid of me?"

Embarrassed that she'd allowed him to see her apprehension, she tried unsuccessfully to pull her hands away.

"Rhaenys – answer me." His voice was quiet and firm, and though the frown was still present, there was now an unreadable expression in his eyes as well. "Why do you tremble?"

"No, I'm not afraid of you. Just nervous." Her voice came out more sharply than she'd intended. "It's normal, actually, for a woman to be a little nervous on her wedding night."

"I see." He released her hands, stepped back.

She wondered just what it was he was seeing.

"I do not recall Daenerys being nervous about her wedding night."

His voice was tight. This was not a good start, Rhaenys reflected. "You were not actually present when she...went to Jon, but it was different for my aunt," she finally said quietly.

He was still frowning, obviously confused. Could he really be so dense?

"Robb..." she stopped, confused as well. What words to use? Her own cheeks heated with embarrassment. It hadn't occurred to her that they'd talk about what they were going to do. "What takes place between a man and woman is always pleasurable for the man. It is not always so for the woman," she finally said bluntly. "It also requires a woman to be particularly...vulnerable," she continued more quietly. "That is only increased when there is little knowledge or trust between them."

She couldn't believe she was being so direct with him and part of her was simply mortified. But given what would shortly occur between the two of them...

The frown had faded, had been replaced with a frozen, formal expression. His cheeks were now also red. Embarrassment at not having guessed what she might be feeling? Or anger that she'd spoken so bluntly? If it was the latter, they were in trouble. She would not survive long in a marriage where she could not speak her mind.

"I see," he said again, in a stiff, measured tone of voice. "Perhaps we should delay the consummation of our marriage, then, until you are more..." he paused before finishing. "Comfortable with me."

She gaped at him. "What?"

"I would not have you start our union feeling vulnerable. We can wait until you feel you know me better." His voice was still tight, his eyes unreadable.

Startled by the suggestion, it took a moment for her to find her voice. She glanced at the bed, and knowing she was blushing again, said, "The servants would notice if the linen is not ...soiled. They would talk, there would be speculation that all is not well between us."

Obviously frustrated, he rubbed the back of his neck, then closed the distance between them and once more reached for her hands. When he spoke, his voice was again very quiet, his eyes intent on her. "As king and queen, the needs of the kingdom will frequently take precedence over our own desires. But that does not mean you and your needs are not a priority for me." He released her left hand, reached up and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Our lives will frequently be the topic of gossip; it is the way of the people. I will not allow the threat of such to rush us into this," he nodded toward the bed, "if you would be better served by us waiting."

She stared at him, unable to look away. His eyes were dark with determination...and a hint of disappointment that made her stomach jump again, but not with nerves.

"Rhaenys, I know we don't know each other well, but I believe we can have a good marriage. I will not risk that by rushing you this evening."

Cupping her cheek, he leaned down and brushed her lips with a light kiss before releasing her other hand and stepping back. "We will wait," he said simply.

He was nearly back to the door before she found her voice.

"Robb...stop."

He glanced back at her, a questioning look on his face.

The nerves of earlier were gone, chased away by his words, by his unexpected consideration of her. But heat once again flooded her face as she struggled to get the words out.

"What if I don't want to wait?"

He raised an eyebrow, glanced toward the bed. "To consummate our marriage?"

Mute with embarrassment, she nodded.

He stalked back over to her. "Why?"

Her stomach flipped. How to explain? "There are many ways of coming to know someone," she finally said. "Your concern for me...is reassuring."

He stared at her for a long moment, before bringing his hand up to cup her cheek. "I will always be concerned for you," he said quietly. Then he took her hand.

Expecting him to lead her to the bed, she firmly suppressed the nerves which wanted to reappear. But he went in the opposite direction, guiding her instead to the bench on the other side of the room, in front of her dressing table, where he motioned for her to sit.

"Would you mind if I unbind your hair?"

Surprised, she glanced up at him, then shook her head. Her hair had been up in a complicated arrangement for the wedding ceremony, and although she'd unpinned some of it, most of it still hung in a long dark braid down her back.

He settled on the bench behind her, and appreciating that he was trying to help her relax, she attempted to force the tension from her body. But it was nearly impossible when he was so close to her, when she could feel the heat from his body. Could smell his scent, clean and male.

"Your hair is such a lovely color."

She laughed softly. "It seems very ordinary to me. I am quite envious of Sansa's hair, to be honest. So bright, so red. It must be a cheering sight in winter when the sun is absent."

She felt him pick up the bottom of the braid, begin to remove the ribbon. "I suppose it is, but do not underestimate the beauty of the night," he said quietly. "Yours is such a lovely, rich color."

The ribbon dropped beside them, and he moved to begin unweaving the braid. Almost immediately, the back of his fingers brushed against her lower back. So thin was the silk of the gown and robe that it might as well been absent, and the light touch gave her goose bumps. Odd, when it wasn't cold she was feeling, but heat. She had never guessed that that area on her lower back could be so ...sensitive.

He worked his way up her back, and every few moments his fingers would brush against her spine again. Whatever the reason, his repeated touch there was making it difficult for her to take a deep breath.

He reached the top of the braid, and spread the hair out, running his hands down her back, and Rhaenys couldn't help a sigh of pleasure.

"Hand me your brush."

She did so, reaching over to the dressing table. And became aware that her breasts felt abnormally sensitive, too. Odd when he hadn't touched her there. She stifled another blush at the thought, handed the brush back.

He took it, began to pull it through her hair, and some of the tension eased from her. She'd always loved having her hair brushed, had always found it relaxing. And he knew how to do it, without tugging too hard on her head. It seemed a peculiar skill for him to have.

Silence fell, and Rhaenys gave herself over to the simple pleasure of having her hair brushed. Although she was still aware of him on every possible level, she felt herself relaxing into his touch.

Then he laid the brush down, and slid his hands beneath the mass of hair at her neck before shifting it to fall over her right shoulder.

All the tension came back, and then some, when he brushed his lips against the exposed skin where her neck met her shoulder.

He slid his hand up, cupped her head, then turned her to face him. His eyes were dark, intense, as he gazed at her. The hand slipped to her neck, and he tugged her closer, then leaned down. And kissed her.

He'd kissed her twice before – at their wedding that afternoon, and earlier, when he'd started to leave the room. This kiss started as those had – a light brushing of his lips against hers.

Then the pressure of his lips increased, and she understood he wanted her to open her mouth to him. A little unnerved, she did so, and felt his tongue lightly trace her lips before slipping in, touching hers. He tasted of the wine they'd had with the wedding supper, and a little of the cake, as well. A sweet combination.

His hand slid down her back, his arm wrapped around her. Pulled her closer to him even as he deepened the kiss.

She wasn't sure how to respond to him, wasn't sure what he wanted back from her. But it was easy enough to follow his lead, to begin tentatively exploring his mouth. She was barely aware of her hand creeping up to rest on his shoulder, then to slide around to the back of his neck. But he was obviously aware of it, and responded with a growl of pleasure.

When he lifted his head, they were both out of breath. Rhaenys rested her head against his chest, allowed her hand to slide back down. What was happening? Where had her nerves gone? She didn't know this man – despite being wedded to him – but was finding it shamelessly easy to respond to his kisses.

Maybe it was as simple as what she'd told him earlier – there are many ways of coming to know someone, and what she'd discovered about him in the past hour was that he might not love her, but was nonetheless solicitous of her, of her needs.

There were worse beginnings to a relationship.

And she enjoyed his kisses.

He tilted her head back up, and their eyes met. What he saw in hers must have reassured him because he resumed kissing her. But this time he slipped his hands around to rub slow circles on her on her back. It seemed like it should have been relaxing. It wasn't.

The next time he lifted his head, it was to slide his lips across her cheek where he nuzzled against her hair, gently bit her earlobe.

Rhaenys shivered in response, and heard humor in his voice when he asked, "Cold?"

She choked back a laugh in response, then went still when she realized his left hand was no longer on her back but was resting on her hip.

Robb raised his head again, looked down at her as he slipped the hand inside the robe. He lingered there, still on her hip but between the gown and the robe, for a long moment while he gave her a steady look. Then he slowly slid his hand up until it rested just below the swell of her breast. She swallowed, a mix of nerves and anticipation, but kept her eyes on his.

The tension between them built until she thought she'd scream if he didn't touch her.

When he finally did, it was with the same light touch he'd used on her back. His hand cupped her breast, its warmth burning through the silk, and she caught her breath at the sensation. He squeezed gently, while continuing to study her face for a response.

In answer, she shifted, gave him better access, and he rewarded her by lightly brushing his thumb across her beaded nipple. She squirmed, and he leaned down, began kissing her again.

It was so hard to concentrate. It seemed important that she keep her head, be aware of what was happening, what was going on between them. But with his lips demanding a response from her mouth as his hand continued to pleasure her breast, her ability to think was completely muddled. Then he slid his right hand around, gave her other breast the same treatment, and all thoughts fled. She heard with some astonishment a moan of pleasure escape herself.

It turned to a sound of annoyance when one of his hands slid away, to rest for a moment between her breasts, over her heart – a heart that was beating so fast it must surely sound as if the horses were escaping from the stables.

He lifted his head, gazed down at her again, his eyes going even darker. He turned his hand over, brushed across her nipple with his knuckle, then again over her heart.

And smiled in response to what he felt there, that fast beat. A hesitant smile of simple pleasure that she was enjoying being with him, enjoying his touch. She would never have used the word shy to describe him, but that was how his smile struck her, and for the first time it occurred to her that there could be some vulnerability for him in this act as well, if of a different kind.

The smile delighted her more than the caress. It changed his face, made him seem younger, more open. More human. And she realized that it mattered to her, a great deal, that she had caused that smile.

In response, she slid her hand up to rest over his heart. And gave him her own smile when she felt his heart beating as fast as hers. He squeezed her breast again, very gently pinched the nipple, and resumed kissing her.

The next time he lifted his head, he took a breath and then buried his face in her neck. "You smell good," he murmured, and the sensation of his lips moving against her throat caused another shudder to move through her.

In all of her anxious thoughts about this night, this possibility – that he would be so apparently focused on her pleasure, or that she would enjoy his touch quite so much – had not entered her mind. She tilted her head to give him better access, but instead of continuing his exploration, he suddenly pulled away from her and stood up. He held out his hand to her, a neutral expression on his face – an expression belied by the intense look in his eyes.

She took his hand, stood.

He glanced at the bed, then back to her. "Rhaenys ," his voice was soft. "Are you sure?"

She gave him an incredulous look, then simply nodded. She appreciated his confirming it was what she wanted, but her entire body was now humming, and she wanted to know what came next. She might not be in love with him, as she'd once hoped to be with the man she'd spend her wedding night with, but she liked and respected him. More, she was coming to trust him. Yes, she was sure.

He nodded, squeezed her hand, and led her to the bed. Then he turned toward her, and released her hand to slip his fingers beneath the shoulders of the robe. He nudged it off of her, and she felt it slide down her body.

He bent to kiss her neck again, and she realized he was getting ready to slip her gown off in the same manner. She drew away slightly, gave him a mock frown. "This is nice," she said with a tug of his tunic, "but I do not wish to be the only unclothed one in the room."

He smiled at that before stepping back and pulling off his tunic, then the soft undershirt he wore beneath it. Rhaenys suppressed another noise of pleasure when his bare chest came into view.

A broad, muscular chest with a light sprinkling of hair. Her gaze moved down to his flat stomach, noted the beginning of a line of darker, thicker hair which disappeared into the top of his hose. She was distracted from both his chest and the hair when her eyes slipped further down, focused on the visible bulge in his crotch. Her heart took another wild leap and began pounding again, with that odd mix of nerves and anticipation.

She wanted to touch him there, wanted to know what he looked liked, but did not quite dare. Instead, she brought her eyes back up, and closing the distance between them, rested her hands on his chest, began to explore.

Hard muscles, smooth skin. Then her fingers brushed lightly over one of his nipples, and he jumped. She glanced up at him, noted the tension in his face. Was he as sensitive as she was there? Apparently. She brushed the nub again, used her free hand to give the same treatment to the other one.

After a moment, though, he groaned and reached up, moved her hands away, down, around his waist, then pulled her to him and kissed her again.

Her breasts came to rest against his chest, only the one remaining layer of thin silk between them, and the sensation as she rubbed against him made her wish she'd not denied him when he'd tried to remove her gown.

His hands were on her back again, pulling her even closer to him, until there was no space at all between their bodies. She could feel that bulge now, pressing into her stomach.

Experimentally, she rubbed against it, and Robb broke the kiss with a groan, buried his face in her neck. "You're trying to drive me mad, aren't you?" he asked in a strangled tone, his voice choked with laughter.

She laughed in response, amazed that she could do so with him. But in the midst of these intimate explorations of each other, it somehow felt very natural, and very, very good to be able to be so relaxed with him.

He stepped back again, and this time when he moved to slip her gown off, she allowed him to do so, despite the blush she knew was rising all over her body. As his gaze traveled down her length, she had to fight the desire to try and cover herself, and her hands jerked more than once as she suppressed that instinct.

Taking her hands in his, he squeezed them. "You're so lovely," he finally said softly, before releasing one of them to lift her chin with his fingers, caught her gaze. "Completely captivating."

Once more, he drew her back to him, and again she felt that shock of pleasure move through her when her breasts brushed against his chest.

He kissed her again, brought one hand up to cup her breast, and she gave a soft moan at the feeling of his rough, calloused hand gently squeezing her, a coarse thumb rubbing back and forth across her nipple.

Leaving off kissing her, her trailed his mouth across her cheek and down her throat, and she squirmed, guessing where he was headed. But she could never have imagined how it would feel when he touched her nipple with his tongue, then took her breast into his mouth. Began to suck. She gasped, arched against him, felt him gently bite her, then soothe her with his tongue.

Her body flooded with heat, and she ached in ways and places she'd never imagined aching. Once again, she squirmed against him, against that bulge, rubbed herself against his leg. On some level, the response embarrassed her, but she simply didn't care. He apparently didn't either, based on his growled response to her frantic movements.

Then he lifted his head, stepped back from her, and Rhaenys made a sound of dismay – which turned to a squeak of shock when he suddenly bent and lifted her into his arms before turning and placing her carefully on the bed.

He stepped back, his eyes locked on hers as he bent once more and stripped off his hose before straightening to stand before her. It was a proud stance, but there was a hint of vulnerability in his eyes as he waited for her gaze to drift down. 

He was much bigger than what she expected and she swallowed, nerves coming to the forefront again. How could this possibly work?

She forced the nerves aside, glanced back up at his eyes, noted the guarded look he was giving her. Curiosity got the better of her, and she reached out, shyly touched him, felt him jerk in response. She liked knowing that she could affect him that way, and stroked him again, a little more boldly.

He groaned, then moved her hand temporarily in order to settle into the bed. Once beside her, he again placed her hand on him, encouraged her to resume her exploration of him.

She did so, was unable to decide what amazed her more – the way he felt against her hand, or the sounds of pained pleasure coming from him.

He suddenly swore and rolled away from her, leaving Rhaenys confused and uncertain. What had she done? Had she hurt him in some way? She shrank back from him a little, to the other side of the bed.

A long moment passed, and she was about to question him when he rolled back over, and looked at her, an embarrassed expression on his face. Reaching out, he touched her cheek. "I'm sorry."

"I don't understand." She felt heat come into her face as well. "Did I hurt you?"

He choked with laughter even as his face went another shade darker. He shook his head. "Just the opposite, in fact. If you had continued touching me in that manner, this would have been over before we properly got started." His expression turned wry. "Do you understand?"

Her gaze slid down his body, then back up, and despite her embarrassment, she could not quite suppress a smile of delight as she said, "I'm sorry."

"I'm not." His voice was husky. He reached for her, pulled her close to him. "But I think we'll focus on you for a while."

The words sent a renewed rush of desire through her, desire which was only intensified as he leaned down and gently kissed her while beginning once again to caress her breasts.

His lips slipped down her throat toward her breasts again, but this time he teased her sensitive skin by rubbing his beard against her. She was distracted from that sensation almost immediately, though, by a new awareness as he trailed his hand down her torso, lingering for a moment on her hip before sliding down her thigh.

And then back up.

"Will you open for me?" he asked softly, and with her heart pounding, she willingly moved her legs apart.

His eyes still on her, he began a careful exploration of the sensitive juncture of her legs. She jumped a little at his first touch, and he soothed her by murmuring soft, indistinguishable words without his eyes ever leaving hers. Gradually she relaxed, began to enjoy his touch.

Then he brushed up a little higher, against a place that had her gasping and arching against his hand. He repeated the movement, sometimes as the lightest of touches, sometimes more firmly, and then lowered his head once more to kiss, nuzzle, and suckle at her breasts, and Rhaenys was lost, unable to form even the simplest of thoughts.

She knew when he eased a finger inside her, though, but marveled only that what she had thought might be one of the oddest touches from him was instead, very welcome, as her body responded to the rough rasp of his calluses on sensitive flesh.

He slipped a second finger in to join the first, and it was a tighter fit, which was both a little more uncomfortable and a greater pleasure. His hand began to move again, slipping in and out of her while his thumb continued to tease the place above, and she once again lost awareness of everything except the pleasure he was bringing her.

Tension was building inside her, a powerful drive toward something she didn't completely understand. What she did understand was that at some point she'd made the decision to trust Robb to get her there, that she'd stopped thinking about who they were and what they were doing, was focused only on reaching that place of pleasure.

She reached it quite suddenly, a point where every muscle in her body clenched tight and then released, and the sensation of that release was like nothing she'd ever imagined. She stiffened against him, heard herself give a soft cry before relaxing back onto the bed, completely undone, her muscles useless. Catching her breath was her first priority.

Robb leaned down and gently kissed her, then laid his forehead on her shoulder. His hand was still resting in and against her.

Gradually, as sense came back, she realized that as relaxed as she was, he wasn't. He was still next to her, his body hard and tense. He was out of breath too, and it took a moment to figure out why – he was still controlling himself, his desires.

Lifting a hand that still trembled, she touched his shoulder. "Robb?"

He looked up at her, his eyes dark and gleaming, and she tugged on his arm. It felt silly, but she didn't know how else to show him that having had her pleasure, she wanted him to find his, wanted to know she'd given back to him what he'd given to her.

When he didn't move immediately, she started to slip her hand down his body, but he stopped her. Brought her fingers up to his mouth, kissed them.

Then eased over onto her, settled between her legs. She shifted, parted them further, gave him more room, her eyes never leaving his.

Braced on his arms, he began to slip into her, and she could tell from the tension running through him how hard it was for him to go slow, to be careful, to allow her body time to adjust to his size and length.

The further he advanced, the greater the discomfort, and she had to keep reminding herself to relax, knowing instinctively that tensing would make it more difficult. Then he reached a point where it seemed as if he were blocked, and she felt him struggling to control himself, to continue to go slow.

She took a deep breath, and tucked her face into his shoulder, forced herself to relax. "Don't stop," she murmured in his ear.

With an exclamation that was half sigh, half groan, he obeyed, sliding in deeply and completely. Rhaenys ignored the discomfort, focused on reminding herself of the pleasure he'd given her earlier, the knowledge that this would get easier, and, after a moment, the wonder of being joined in such an intimate fashion with another human being.

She wrapped her arms around him, tried to draw him closer to her. He was still for a moment, then pulled partially out before thrusting back in, and she shifted again, wanting him to brush against that spot which had brought her pleasure earlier. Began to see the possibilities of how it might work, of how they might both find that amazing release in this act.

But not this time. After only a few more thrusts, he suddenly groaned and shuddered, and partially collapsed against her. His arms barely keeping him from completely crushing her. He was breathing hard, his face in her neck.

She stroked his back, breathed in the scent of him, and tried to sort out what had just happened. She'd been afraid of feeling vulnerable – how could you not, with a grown man in and on top of you? But his concern for her had banished those feelings before they'd even started, while at the same time she'd become aware that there was vulnerability for him in it as well.

And mostly she was conscious of the feeling of being so connected with him. It occurred to her that she really didn't know what love was. 

What she knew was that Robb had shown her she was safe with him, that she could trust him, at least in this. That together, they could find pleasure and even joy in this most basic of interactions.

She had been very aware of being alone in the North. She'd left behind the only life she'd known, had traveled many leagues to a place of foreign customs and strange behaviors in order to start a new life. But this man, now joined to her so intimately, was the reason she'd made that choice, had taken that risk. And tonight, he'd proven that she had not been wrong to do so.

She wasn't alone, but was rather part of something very specific. She would have a role beyond just what the Northerners saw in their queen, a role that would grow out of her connection with the king. It started with this very basic physical joining, but if they were careful – and had he not already shown how careful he would be with her? – that connection could grow into something lovely and strong. Something which would make a difference – not just for the two of them, but for the North.

He suddenly shifted, lifted himself off of her. "I'm sorry. I'm crushing you." He rolled to the side, flung his arm over his eyes.

Just that quickly, the warm glow of a moment earlier, of the pleasure she'd taken in being joined with him, faded. She was cold, and felt ...exposed, and suddenly understood how tenuous that intimacy could be.

As the sudden shock of the separation faded, tears wanted to come, and she pushed them back, angry at herself. Why on earth should she be feeling so ...abandoned? All he'd done was roll away from her, and if his soft breathing was any indication, was now asleep.

But she'd somehow not expected that they'd go so quickly from the intimacy of that joining to being separate human beings again. Foolish of her not to have done so, though it underscored what friends had said about the link for women between the physical and emotional – a link men didn't necessarily feel.

Though love might eventually grow between them, he didn't yet love her. He'd been kind, and considerate toward her, had made it clear that he felt responsible for her. But he didn't love her, wasn't feeling the intimacy she'd been feeling. She frowned. Did that mean she loved him? No. Not necessarily. Women and men were just different, that was all.

Regardless, it was foolish of her not to have realized sooner that he would be feeling something very different than she was.

And then a new thought came, chilled her. In all likelihood, he'd get up soon, go to his own bed. 

But on this night, she found the idea of being left alone in the bed nearly unbearable. She might not love him, might not be loved by him, but after their shared intimacy, after being joined with him in such a fashion and becoming aware of what their relationship could be, of his very physical reminder that she wasn't alone, his leaving her to return to his bed would be crushing.

He wouldn't go if she asked him to stay, of course, no matter what his own preference might be. He'd made it clear that her needs would take precedence. But she didn't want him to stay unless he wanted to, unless he, too, wanted to maintain that connection between them. And based on his current position on the other side of the bed, he didn't seem to want to.

She took a deep, quiet breath, forced back the ache. Reminded herself again that she was being foolish, that he'd already given her so much more than she'd dared hope for out of this night. And they had time, time to take things slowly in terms of their relationship. If he did get up and leave, she'd concentrate on the good things that had come out of this evening, would wait to see what the future brought.

Needing to comfort herself in some fashion, though, she rolled over on her side – her preferred sleeping position – her back to him, and curled up, her arms around herself. Then could not help but inch a little closer to him, to the warmth of his body, even if it was against her back.

Then she closed her eyes, tried to sleep.

She was still awake sometime later, though, when she felt him shift. Tension came back as she waited for that moment he'd get up, leave the bed.

Instead, she felt him roll over, towards her. "Rhaenys ?" his voice was very soft and she didn't reply immediately, was trying to brace herself for his telling her he was returning to his own room. Odd that it was only now that she felt so vulnerable.

Then she felt his hand on her shoulder, heard a muttered complaint. "You're cold."

There was more movement from behind her, though she couldn't tell what he was doing – until in one action, he tugged the covers up from where they'd been shoved at the foot of the bed, and pulled her back against him, into his arms, and covered them both with the soft furs.

He cuddled her to him, his front pressed against her back, his arm draped around her waist. Then she felt him press a kiss onto her shoulder, and sigh before relaxing back into sleep. He seemed to have no trouble at all finding sleep.

And now, tucked warm against his body, sheltered by both the fur and his arms, she found it easy to drift off to sleep herself.


	2. Chapter 2

Robb heard the roar of the water before he saw it, and suppressed an oath. His men already thought him mad; there was no point in making it worse with another display of temper. But gods, he wanted to.

He continued carefully picking his way through the undergrowth until they emerged onto the banks of the stream.

At least it was supposed to be a stream. But stream was an altogether too mild a word for the writhing, seething mass of water in front of him. Now what?

At a noise behind him, he glanced over his shoulder, watching Olyvar ride up. The captain of his guard stared at the water for a long moment, then turned, gave Robb a cautious look.

Robb's gaze returned to the stream and he glared at it balefully. They might be able to make it across, but it would be risky, and it wasn't a risk he was willing to take – no matter how desperate he was to get back to Winterfell.

If he hadn't been king, he would have sent the men back to the road and made the attempt. He knew his own skills. But he was king, and even if he was foolish enough to try and send his guard back to the road, they'd refuse to go. And although they were all good riders, he didn't know if all of them could handle the crossing.

With the road flooded and washed out in places, they'd had a choice of turning back to White Harbor and waiting until the water receded and the ground began to dry, or of trying to find an alternate route around the worst of the floods. He'd opted for the latter, had hoped this little-known route through the hills would still be passable. The stream now blocking them was so small and followed such a convoluted path out of the mountains that he hadn't been able to imagine it flooding. It had certainly never done so before. Until now.

With one final glower toward the water, he turned back to Olyvar. "We'll give the road another attempt. If we take the left fork as we leave the hills, we should come back to the road just west of Moat Cailin. Perhaps the flooding won't be so bad there."

Olyvar nodded, and started to turn, when Robb spoke again. "We'll stop for the night at that clearing we passed not long ago."

"Yes, sire." He turned and started back toward the men.

They were loyal, and Robb hadn't heard even a hint of complaint from any of them, but he'd been driving them hard and they were all exhausted. An early night would not go amiss – and it was not as if a few extra hours were going to make that much of a difference.

Being able to cross this stream had been his final hope, his last chance of making it back to Winterfell in time. Now they had no choice but to retrace their steps back to the road, adding at least two days to their journey no matter how hard they pushed. No, a few more hours weren't going to make any difference.

Discouraged, he nudged his horse to follow Olyvar.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rhaenys gradually came awake. Although it was still dark, morning-noises were coming through the walls. 

As full alertness returned, she sat up, dropped her head into her hands. The day she'd been secretly dreading was here; now all that remained was to get through it. It would be no longer than any other day, and when it was over, things would be easier.

Throwing back the covers, she shivered as she reached for her dressing gown. How would she ever hope to survive winter?

No. She would not think such thoughts. There was much she loved about the North, its people. And eventually she would get used to the colder weather. Or so everyone assured her.

Crossing the room, she knelt in front of the fire and stirred it to a brighter blaze, was cheered by both the heat and light.

The intensity of her homesickness continued to surprise her. She'd known there would be adjustments, but not to this degree. In hindsight, it had been terribly naive to think that simply because she'd always loved excursions away from Dorne – to Dragonstone, for example – that moving to Winterfell would not be that difficult.

And in truth, it wasn't that bad. Winterfell was just as beautiful as Sunspear if in a different way, and its people were warm and kindhearted, at least for the most part. They'd been nothing but welcoming to her.

But at unexpected times, a sudden longing for the Water Gardens would come over her, or a fierce desire to hear her dear sisters laugh, and it would be all she could manage not to burst into tears wherever she was.

The weakness appalled her, and made her even more determined to adjust, to find her place here.

It mattered to her that none of her people come to know that there were times when she ached for her homeland, as she couldn't dislodge the fear that they would misunderstand, would think she was regretting her marriage to their King, something decidedly not true.

She suspected that Robb knew she occasionally battled homesickness. They'd never discussed it, but she'd catch him giving her a sharp look, and he'd almost immediately request her assistance with something – nearly always something that involved spending time with him, being busy. It was very sweet of him – and it usually worked, too. With her mind off of whatever had triggered the homesickness, she would find herself once again fascinated and delighted by some new aspect of her new home.

But Robb was away, his first extended trip since their marriage. As they had a dozen times in the last eight weeks, her thoughts went back to the afternoon he'd come to tell her of the message summoning him south.

_"Lannisport?" she stared at him blankly._

_He nodded, glanced again at the parchment in his hand, a troubled look on his face. "A raven from King's Landing just arrived." He scanned the missive again. "There are rumors of trouble in the westerlands...word has reached Jon that Devan Lannister has been sending ravens to Euron Greyjoy and to mercenary companies across the sea.." When he looked back up, a grim expression was on his face. "Apparently, they're assuming we will not ride to Daenery's aid when winter sets in."_

_"Then they know nothing of Northerners, nor of the bond between the two kingdoms," she said indignantly. "But..." her voice faltered. "Does that mean you will need to stay all winter?" It was hard to even voice the question._

_"No." He shook his head, glanced at the message again. "In fact, Jon does not believe it will even come to battle, at least not yet. He seems to think that my demonstrating that I will come at need, no matter the season, will be sufficient for the moment to convince them to drop any ideas they have. And in the meantime, his lords will be assembling their men, which will also help."_

_She nodded, tried to push away the dread that was growing. "When will you leave?"_

_"Tomorrow, at first light. I'm only taking my personal guard. Under the circumstances, I don't believe it's necessary to call the banners. If it comes to battle, a rider will be sent and Dacey will muster the men."_

_"Tomorrow?" She barely heard his comment about the rider. So soon?_

_"It's not ideal, I know. But the more quickly I meet with Jon at Lannisport, the likelier the Westerners are to be convinced that I could be there in time to make a difference should they move forward with their plans, and the sooner I can get back. I do not like being away from Winterfell right now."_

_She nodded, her mind already on all the tasks that needed to be done before he and his men left. With effort, she forced back the personal feelings that wanted to flare into panic at the thought of his leaving. She was adjusting, was beginning to find her place in her new home. But it was so much harder than she'd anticipated. And it was only now, when faced with the thought of his departure, that she realized how much she'd come to depend on him as a defense against the homesickness._

_He'd started to turn away, the parchment still in his hand, when a new thought occurred to her. "Robb..."_

_"Yes?" he looked up, his mind plainly already on the trip ahead._

_"If this is unlikely to result in a new war..." she hesitated. What if he misunderstood?_

_"What?" there was a hint of impatience in his voice. No wonder, given all he had to do before departing._

_Ask or let it drop. She took a breath. "If battle is unlikely, perhaps I could go with you?" Despite her attempt to sound casual, the words came out rushed, nervous._

_His face went still, and she hurried on, convinced she knew what his primary concern would be. "I would not delay you – you've said yourself that I ride as well as your lords." She stifled a wince when she heard the words. They sounded more like pleading than she'd wanted them to. Too late now, though._

_He dropped his hand with the parchment, stared at her. And she saw the answer in his eyes._

_No. She couldn't go._

_Why had she even asked? Having admitted, to herself at least, how desperately she wanted to do so, how much she wanted to see her family – some of whom must surely be in Kings Landing given the current state of affairs – it was now even harder to face staying. And she'd probably sounded like a fool, as well._

_She forced a smile, promised herself that she would not cry until he was gone. "Nevermind. I know it's a foolish idea. I'll go let the kitchens know to begin preparing supplies for your journey."_

_She was nearly to the door before he caught up with her. "Rhaenys." He pulled her around to face him, and she had to fight against the instinct to struggle, the desire to flee from him in disappointment and dismay._

_"It's not that I don't want you to go. You must know that." His other hand, the parchment now crumpled, came up to rest on her shoulder. "And it is not a matter of how fast you ride." His gaze was direct, focused on her. "Things are not yet as stable as I might wish them to be in the North. There are still those who question me, who question my decisions, even my rule. I do not anticipate trouble, but I believe it would be best if one of us, at least, remains here. That is why I ask you to stay."_

_Ask. He placed a slight emphasis on the word, but it was enough for her to understand. Though he could order her to stay, he would not do so. He would take her with him if she insisted, as foolish as it might be. But he would be disappointed in her. And she desperately didn't want to disappoint him._

_Struck by that thought, it took her a moment to really process the rest of what he'd said. 'One of us.' He was asking her to stay in order to represent him while he was gone. To rule in his stead, as his mate, his queen._

_Slowly, she nodded, struggled to find the words. It was hard when she was feeling both pride that he trusted her, needed her, that much, as well as some fear at the thought. There was still so much she didn't understand about the North. What if she let him down? What if she let their people down? She took a deep breath, then simply nodded. "Then of course I must stay."_

_She saw the relief in his eyes, relief which yet warred with concern for her. He brushed his hands down her arms, linked his hands with hers, the parchment crumpled between them. "Thank you."_

_She forced a smile, looked away from him. Tugged on her hands. "I must really go to the kitchens if you're to have supplies for the journey."_

_He released one of her hands, cupped her chin, forced her to look at him. "Rhaenys..."_

_The concern was still there. She tugged harder. If he didn't let her go, right now, she was going to embarrass herself with tears, something she badly didn't want to do. "I'm fine. But I really do need to go check on plans for your departure."_

_Reluctantly, he released her, his eyes still troubled. She smiled again, hoped it looked vaguely sincere. "I'm fine," she said again, before turning and exiting._

She sighed, shook herself out of the memory. And so, understanding that he wouldn't always ask it of her, she'd stayed, doing her best to represent him. 'As king and queen, the needs of the kingdom will frequently take precedence over our own desires.' Not for the first time since his departure, she recalled the words he'd spoken to her on their wedding night. He'd been right, but she'd give anything if the first proof of that duty hadn't been being left behind, while he rode off to war.

She'd met daily with his advisors, half of whom assumed she knew all there was to know about ruling Winterfell, while the other half assumed she was an empty headed female who must be pandered to in the absence of the King. To her relief, she'd also met regularly with Dacey Mormont who was in charge of the castle's security. The she bear approached her with a mix of respect and practicality that was always reassuring.

She reminded her in some ways of her uncle. She would no doubt be startled by the idea of being compared to the Red Viper of Dorne, but the same ...steadiness was there. The same wisdom, the same sharpness of mind.

One of the things she shared with her was a growing concern over how delayed Robb was in returning. He'd expected to be gone for no more than a month, six weeks at the most. Eight weeks had now passed, and she saw worry growing in Dacey's eyes as her gaze ever more frequently turned south. What had happened to cause the delay?

It wasn't war, that was the one thing they were sure of. If battle had broken out, ravens would have been flown to all corners, and Dacey would have called the banners and ridden off with them.

But something had obviously happened.

She'd marked the weeks, day by day, growing progressively more excited as the time of his expected return grew nearer, only to have anticipation turn to disappointment, then disappointment to worry, when he didn't return. And now worry was gradually turning to fear. Where was he?

A soft tap came on her door, and she smiled inspite of her anxiety and sadness. Halys, one of the kitchen maids, had taken it on herself to bring Rhaenys tea every morning, and seemed to take pride in arriving at the door not long after Rhaenys awoke, without actually waking her. How the girl managed to know when to bring it was a mystery, but it was one of those small gestures that meant a great deal..

Standing, she crossed the room, opened the door with a smile.

Halys placed the tray on a small table near the fire, then gave a quick bow before exiting the room. Rhaenys settled at the table, poured herself a mug of the tea, and tried to plan the day. She simply wouldn't think about what the date was and would keep herself busy. 

Please, she pleaded to the world at large. Let him return soon. I miss him more than I would have believed possible.


End file.
